


Kisses

by bluester007



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, literally just fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 00:58:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8645068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluester007/pseuds/bluester007
Summary: I found a list of different types of kisses months ago and just found it on my computer so, presenting: pure fluff between two sappy bastards.Marked as complete, but may be added to in the future (no promises, though).





	1. Hand kisses

**Author's Note:**

> Current prompt fills:  
> Hand kisses  
> Cheek kisses
> 
> May possibly add to this sometime in the future, but I can't guarantee anything because I'm bad at commitments and get distracted way too easily, so.

Tony’s always been fascinated by Steve’s hands. They’re artists hands, elegant, slender, charcoal and paint caked under blunt nails. They capture, create, manipulate the simplest of lines into something breathtaking. They can capture the likeness of the purest of sunsets, or the stillness of green landscapes, or replicate shapes and forms and creases with simple ease.

But they’re also the tools of a warrior – a soldier. They’re rough, scraped, scarred and calloused. They’re brute strength, quick, sharp jabs and uppercuts. They can tear limbs from sockets, crush skulls like peanuts, inflict tremendous pain with barely a thought.

And they can bring mind-numbing, blind, white pleasure – which, Tony thinks, is really rather wonderful, too.

Tony loves Steve’s hands, and takes every opportunity to touch them, feel them, run his own fingers over Steve’s, warm them with a breath, rub them between his own. They’re beautiful, and Tony tells this to anyone who listens, and those who won’t.

What Tony loves the most about them, though, is how gentle they can be, and the _thing_ in Steve’s eyes when he holds Tony’s face between his hands, smiles that little smile reserved just for him. They hold him like he’s fragile, like one wrong move and he’ll shatter. They hold him like he’s precious, valuable, _important_. Steve runs his thumbs under the curve of Tony’s eyes, along his cheekbones, and it’s such a soft gesture, blatantly affectionate, so _loving_ , Tony can’t help but return his smile. He knows he looks like a lovesick fool, but he doesn’t give a flying fuck because that’s exactly what he is. He wraps an arm around Steve’s waist, nudging him closer, and entwines his other hand with Steve’s on his face.

“You’re incredible,” Steve whispers, and Tony’s cheeks ache with the abundance of _happiness_.

“You’re not too bad yourself, Rogers.” His voice is soft, fond, despite his words.

Steve bops him on the nose with his thumb, chuckling when he scrunches his face up.

“I mean it,” Steve says, earnest, honest. “Everything about you is incredible.”

Tony turns his chin into Steve’s hand, the one covered by his own, and presses his lips to his palm, light and lingering.

“So do I.”


	2. Cheek kisses

Tony has always hated mornings. Before his first 3 cups of coffee, he’s slow and clumsy, eyes bleary and voice slurred. It’s embarrassing, to say the least, although that had never been an issue until the team had moved into his tower. He used to be able to stumble to the coffee machine in peace, without fear of judgement. Now, he gets taunted, teased – and it’s all friendly, affectionate even. But, really, how many more times can he hear Clint or Natasha, or sometimes even Thor, call him ‘adorable’ before his pride takes a dive out the window? He is _not adorable_ , dammit.

It’s great, really, that Steve hates mornings just as much as he does. His favourite mornings are the ones where they’ve curled up into each other under the covers and grumbled about the morning being an _absolute fucking asshole_ together. Steve’s his fellow morning-hater, and it almost makes mornings bearable.

Steve’s almost always the first to get up in the morning, because despite his disinclination to do so, he still has his this built-in alarm clock, set to blow if he stays in past 8, left over from his time in the army. Tony usually follows shortly after, completely insulted by the numbers the clock flashes at him, because the bed’s too cold without Steve beside him.

Tony stumbles into the kitchen, nearly tripping on his own feet. He grunts, looks down at the offending limbs, frowning, for a moment, before deciding that caffeine is far more important. Steve’s already at the machine, and he’s placing a mug in front of it filled to the brim with coffee – black, two sugars, just how Tony likes his first 2 cups to be.

“You’re my favourite,” he mumbles, bumping his hip against Steve’s. He takes a large, long drink, sighing as the steam clouds his eyes.

“I know,” Steve replies, filling Tony’s now-empty cup and stirring in the sugar. He gulps this one down, too, and Steve pours him another cup, adding only half a sugar. Tony’s feeling more like a human being now, the caffeine humming quietly in his veins.

“Thank you, darling,” he says, turning his face to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek.

Steve grins and squeezes Tony’s ass.


End file.
